


Paradise Cove

by mezzogal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beaches, F/M, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 16:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mezzogal/pseuds/mezzogal
Summary: A mysterious book transports Hermione into a different world along with her bitter rival. A day and a night is all it takes to fall in love. When two people are alone together in paradise, who knows what will ensue?





	1. Llewlyn Bromly Smyth’s Anticke & Rare Bookes Shoppe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captaindkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaindkirk/gifts).



It was a hot summer day. The sun assaulted the streets of London, baking the cobbles and bricks to hellish temperatures. Even the ubiquitous street pigeons – tougher than your average Londoner – had abandoned their domain for shadier climes. Pedestrians moved along, some hurrying to get to their destination, while others strolled sluggishly to try and stay cool.

 

Hermione pushed her frizzy brown hair out of her face for the hundredth time. She regretted not having tied it up and out of the way when she left her home that morning, deceived by the cool start of the day.

 

She pushed her way through the sweaty crowd on Charing Cross Road and stopped in front of an old decrepit shop nestled between a Muggle bookshop and a music store. It was hard to tell what the shop was to have been. Through the grimy windows, cloth-covered masses could be seen, too shapeless and dingy to draw any attention from passers-by. But Hermione was not deterred. She put her hand on the tarnished doorknob and turned it. The door swung open to reveal a completely different world.

 

The smell of alcohol and fried food greeted her first, followed quickly by a welcome coolness created by an Atmospheric charm. A smile spread over Hermione’s face as she took in the dim main room of the Leaky Cauldron. Slightly shabby wooden tables and chairs were crammed into every available space, save for pathways leading to the stairs and the back of the pub. It didn’t look like much, but it was one of the most magical things Hermione could have imagined when she first saw it nearly five years ago.

 

She had been utterly fascinated to see magic everywhere, from the rags rubbing down the glasses by themselves to the various drink bottles and teapots wandering through the room to serve patrons. It had taken a lot of effort for her not to stare at the non-human patrons nonchalantly enjoying their drinks. The pub had been the doorway to the world where she truly belonged.

 

“Oi! Hermione!”

 

It did not take Hermione long to locate the source of the shout. Ron had shot up over the summer and towered over many of the people in the room. He waved both arms madly over his head. Hermione grinned and waved to let him know she had seen him.

 

“All right, Ron?” she greeted when she reached the table. “Harry?”

 

“Hi!” the black-haired boy at the table grinned at her. Harry never liked to draw attention to himself. “Hot isn’t it?”

 

“Horribly,” Hermione agreed. “I’d kill for a nice cold pumpkin juice.”

 

“We thought you might.” Ron slid a glass full of orange liquid at her. “Sort of. We got you pumpkin fizz.”

 

“And here I was thinking Divination was a load of bollocks. You two must’ve learnt something after all.” She took a long drink. It was so refreshing, with little bubbles popping as the drink slid down her parched throat.

 

“It’s brilliant! Gives you gas for days though. Fred almost belched out the entire alphabet last week,” Ron informed her, his eyes wide. “George swears he managed an entire Weird Sisters’ song. He says the trick is to shake up the bottle and down it in one.”

 

“Ugh.” Hermione made a face and took a smaller, more cautious sip.

 

The trio chatted about the goings on during their summer holiday so far. It was all as usual; Ron enjoying his time at home and playing Quidditch with his siblings, and Harry keeping out of his aunt and uncle’s way while they pretended he was not there. Hermione herself had a relaxing time reading or watching television and occasionally helping out in her parents’ dental practice.

 

But no matter how their summers had been, their favourite part was always when they met at the Leaky Cauldron for their annual shopping trip to stock up on school supplies. They finished their drinks, gathered their things and headed to the back of the pub. The courtyard was a mess of boxes and rubbish piled up against a brick wall. The uninitiated Muggle would turn around, finding a dead end.

 

Hermione was no Muggle though. She pulled out her wand. “Allow me,” she said. She counted the bricks from the rubbish bin – three up, two across – and gave the spot a smart tap. The bricks pulled back, creating an opening that revealed the bustling Diagon Alley.

 

It was sweltering. Clearly, the Atmospheric charm that kept the Leaky Cauldron cool did not extend to the shopping street. Some shoppers had tried their own spells, with varying degrees of success – they passed several witches and wizards shivering and bundled up as blizzards blew above their heads; others were soaked to skin and trying to run from storm clouds following them.

 

The trio made a beeline to Gringotts, where they hoped the underground caverns would offer some fuss-free relief. Unfortunately, they were not the only ones with this idea. The bank was full, with snaking queues at every counter.

 

“I’ll just change my money and meet you at Flourish and Blotts,” Hermione told Ron and Harry. Being Muggle-born, she did not have a Gringotts account and just changed Muggle money whenever she needed to. The line at the moneychanger was significantly shorter. The goblin examined her pound notes thoroughly and suspiciously before handing over the equivalent in galleons, which Hermione tucked carefully into her purse. She scanned the crowd to look for Ron and Harry. The boys were still glumly waiting in line, barely having moved forward in all that time.

 

Hermione caught their eye, gave them a small wave and exited the bank. She wandered through Diagon Alley, looking into the shop windows and following the flow of the crowd. Eventually, she noticed a discoloured bronze sign with “Llewlyn Bromly Smyth” embossed in large text. Underneath, in smaller letters, was “Purveyors of Anticke and Rare Bookes”. A crookedly hung arrow pointed into a quiet side alley. Hermione knew Ron and Harry would never consent to visit such a shop, so she decided to take a look without them.

 

A bell jangled when she pushed open the wooden door. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer interior of the shop. Her jaw dropped. There were books everywhere – on shelves, on tables and stacked up on the floor, reaching to the ceiling. She took a few steps forward and discovered a maze made entirely of books. The books muffled all sound and blocked all sight of the rest of the shop. She felt completely alone.

 

She selected a book at random along the wall and eased it out, worried in case it caused a book avalanche. But the wall held. The book had a dark green cover that was cold, dry and felt vaguely like snake skin. She opened it. It smelled like jasmine. The text was handwritten, spindly and not in a language she knew. The pictures of plants and animals were fascinating, though they did not resemble any species she was familiar with.

 

She put the book back and walked down the passage of books. She turned a corner and came to a fork in the path. She picked the left one. A book was sticking out of the wall at around knee height. Hermione squatted down and pulled it out. The book was covered in weathered brown leather with the title “The Oblivion Soulles” stamped in fiery red letters. A scent of sandalwood and ash was released when she opened it. This text was in English, though it seemed a little more antiquated in form. It told of a hero on a quest to defeat a dragon prophesied to destroy the world. Hermione wondered if it was history or fiction.

 

She read a bit more then replaced the book in the wall, pushing it in to be level with its neighbours. A breeze blew through the passage, inexplicably carrying with it the chill of an ocean spray. Hermione tentatively followed it. “Hello?” she called. There was no answer except for the sound of waves. This must be a superb Atmospheric charm, she thought. It certainly drove away the feel of the dusty old bookshop.

 

A book was lying open on the floor in front of her. The pages were fluttering as though a breeze was blowing. Hermione picked it up and examined it. It appeared to be a modern paperback, similar to those sold at convenience stores in train stations. “Paradise Cove” was emblazoned across the top. Below, it showed a beautiful cove containing two scantily clad people locked in a passionate embrace, their faces hidden from view. At the bottom was the name “Beverley P. Nebbett”.

 

Hermione flipped to the back to see the synopsis. There wasn’t one; just a plain beige background with the words “A day and a night is all it takes to fall in love. When two people are alone together in paradise, who knows what will ensue?”

 

Hermione frowned. What was a trashy romance novel doing in a shop of antique books? She opened the book and touched the page to smooth it out. There was a poem printed inside:

 

_I wonder if you’d run away with me,_

_Even though this won’t be forever,_

_It could be all right for now._

_If maybe we could – just for a day, a night –_

_Find our way to that flicker of happiness._

_Not back, but forward to memories we haven’t yet made._

_If we could find us_

_A corner of the world where_

_There could be everything we hoped for._

_Somewhere far away or maybe closer than we think._

_Maybe we’re just a matter of all the elements_

_Lining up in a precise pattern,_

_Like a treasure map that doesn’t make sense_

_Till you’re holding what you want firmly in your grasp._

_You and me. Love. Adventure. Freedom._

Beneath this was handwritten: “Sicut scriptum est; sit ita.”

 

Hermione read the inscription out loud to herself. When she got to the end, the scent of the ocean suddenly intensified and became overwhelming. Bright light emanated from the page, engulfing her and blinding her. The floor fell away and she felt herself hurtling through space. She flung out her hands to brace herself.

 

She landed with a thud on a soft surface. She opened her eyes and blinked. The bookshop was gone. Diagon Alley was gone. She was pretty sure London was gone. Instead, she found fine white sand under her and a vast ocean in front of her. She gaped. “What the hell just happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem adapted from Nicole Cameron's "Would You Run Away with Me?"  
> https://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/02/would-you-run-away-with-me-poem/


	2. Not in Diagon Alley anymore

Hermione ran her fingers through the sand. Little grains stuck to her palm. It felt real. The smell of the water seemed real. The chill of the ocean breeze was very real, raising gooseflesh on her bare arms. Her handbag was half buried in the sand close by, with her purse and wand strewn out. She dove for them, gripping her wand tightly. There had to be a good explanation for this, she thought. Perhaps the book was a Portkey; that was why it was in Llewlyn Bromly Smyth’s. She wished she knew how to Apparate so she could return to Diagon Alley.

 

She then considered that it was all just an illusion – an Atmospheric charm gone wrong. Perhaps she only thought she was at the beach but she was really still in the shop. She lifted her wand. “Specialis Revelio,” she said. Nothing happened.

 

“Aparecium.” Nothing.

 

“Partis Temporis.” Nothing.

 

“Point me.” Still nothing.

 

Hermione looked at her wand. Was it damaged from whatever had happened? She flicked it and sparks came out. It seemed all right. So why weren’t the spells working? She looked around. She heard a squawk overhead and looked up. It was a seagull. On impulse, she raised her wand. “Immobulus.” The bird froze and fell from the sky. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. She ran to the bird to check if it was injured and quickly performed the counterspell. The bird flapped about in the sand then flew away. “At least I know my magic still works,” she muttered.

 

“Granger?” a shocked voice sounded behind her.

 

She turned and dropped her wand when she saw Draco Malfoy standing there. He was dressed more casually than she had ever seen him, in a light grey short-sleeved shirt, black Bermuda shorts and loafers. It suited him better than his usual formal all-black ensemble. His pale hair was wild and his breathing ragged, like he had just been running.

 

“Malfoy?” Hermione was sure she sounded as flabbergasted as he did.

 

“Are you… Who… that is… is anyone else with you?” Draco asked, looking around.

 

“No,” Hermione answered. Draco’s shoulders slumped. “Were you expecting someone?”

 

Draco’s fists clenched at his sides. “It certainly wasn’t you,” he said through gritted teeth.

 

“Just leave if you’re going to be insulting,” Hermione snapped, bending to pick up her wand.

 

“I truly wish I could, Granger. But since you clearly didn’t come here on purpose, I think it’s fair to say we’re both stuck with each other.” He turned and began walking away from the beach.

 

Hermione considered not following him, but his remark intrigued her. She scrambled across the sand to catch up. They passed a hedgerow of tall green beach grass and a rustic wooden cottage came into view. A swing hung on the porch next to some tinkling seashell wind chimes. The bright blue front door was wide open. Draco strode up the porch steps without hesitation and went in. Hermione stopped. She knew what the Malfoys thought of Muggle-borns like her, and she didn’t want to set foot on any Malfoy property.

 

Draco came back to the door. “Come on, Granger,” he beckoned.

 

“I am not going into some strange house with you until you give me an explanation.” She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “What is this place?”

 

Draco sighed and sat on the porch steps, his hands clasped over his knees. He looked up at her. “I was in Diagon Alley on Tuesday, stepped into a creepy bookstore, opened a book and ended up here.”

 

Hermione stared at him. “If you’re having a laugh…”

 

“I promise you, I’m not.”

 

“This isn’t some sick prank of yours? You’re not trying to get at Harry or Ron again?”

 

“I wish to Merlin that I were, but I’m telling you the truth. I opened a book and, poof! Here.” He gestured around him. “Wherever this is, we’re definitely not in Diagon Alley anymore. What about you? How did you get here?”

 

Hermione uncrossed her arms. “Same way you did,” she replied. “But it’s Saturday now.”

 

“Saturday?” Draco’s eyes widened for a moment. Then, his cool demeanour returned. “This is great. Just great.” His flat tone, however, told her that it was anything but great. He got up and went back inside. This time, Hermione followed.

 

The living room was cosy, with gauzy white curtains, an overstuffed sofa, fireplace and some bookshelves containing knick-knacks. Draco pointed at the grandfather clock. “Time stands still here. It’s been six in the morning ever since I got here.” He glared at it. “The clock doesn’t move. I’ve even changed the positions of the hands but they always go back to six and twelve.”

 

“So, you don’t know how long you’ve been here?” Hermione asked.

 

Draco led her through to a small kitchen. The rustic theme continued here, with red-brown floor tiles and wooden country-style island. The silver tap at the cast-iron sink was dripping water into a partially filled plastic pail. Up close, Hermione saw markings scratched into the side at regular intervals. “I managed to calibrate the rate of water dripping so it would be a rough clock,” Draco explained. “I thought it was Friday, close to one in the afternoon.” He looked quizzically at Hermione.

 

She instinctively looked at her watch. The hands had stopped moving, leaving the time at 2.14pm, the time she had been in the bookshop. She hated to admit it but Draco’s makeshift clock was ingenious, even if he was a day off. “It’s Saturday. It is… was… a quarter past two.”

 

Draco scowled and went back to the living room, throwing himself onto the sofa.

 

“So, how do we get out of here?” Hermione asked the back of his head.

 

“I don’t know, Granger,” he said, not turning round to look at her. “I’ve tried everything I know. I had hoped… that you were here to rescue me.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, Malfoy,” Hermione said bitterly.

 

The sofa was too small for her to sit without being uncomfortably close to Draco, so she stalked to the only other room she had noticed. It was a bedroom with an enormous bed that Draco had obviously been sleeping in. Sheets and bedding were strewn all over the room. She knew he was used to house elves waiting on him hand and foot, but did he have to be such a slob? She did not want to stay here any longer than she had to.

 

Draco was still draped over the sofa when she came out. He did not look at her as she marched to the front door and slammed it shut, making the wind chimes ring out as the rafters shuddered. She stormed down to the beach.

 

Of all the people to be stranded anywhere with, why did it have to be him? Draco was not her friend. He hated her, called her terrible names and went out of his way to make her life in Hogwarts a misery. And now, it seemed he was going to be absolutely useless in getting them out of here. He had been here five days and all he had to show for it was a stupid water clock. Hermione picked up a fistful of sand and threw it, screaming in frustration.

 

After several rounds of this, she squared her shoulders and brushed sand from her legs. She refused to allow Draco to get under her skin. She was Hermione Jean Granger, Muggle-born but the best witch in her year. Better, by far, than Draco Malfoy. He may have given up but she was not going to. She was determined to find a way out and pay Draco back for every time he had belittled her. Maybe she would even leave him here.

 

“No, I’m not mean like him,” she chided herself. “I will get both of us out. Somehow.” She pulled out her wand and began experimenting.


	3. Another piece of the puzzle

Hermione cast every spell she knew – and even a few she made up on the spot. She was determined to get herself (and Draco) back to Diagon Alley, or at least, somewhere normal with other people. But nothing worked. Soon, clouds of smoke surrounded her, residue from her furious spell casting. She grew more and more angry. Her stomach growled, suggesting that a significant amount of time had passed since she left Draco in the cottage and stormed down to the beach. Her watch still showed 2.14. The sun also had not moved. It seemed that Draco had been right. She hated that.

 

She refused to give in and trekked back to where she thought she had first arrived in this place. Surely, the magic at the arrival point would be weaker than elsewhere. At least, there had to be some sign of a portal or break in the magic. She repeated all her spells here, but to no avail.

 

“Ugh!” she shrieked, tossing her wand onto the sand and flopping down herself. Her stomach growled again. She considered if she should return and ask Draco if he had any food. But she remembered his attitude and she decided that she was not hungry enough to beg Draco for anything. Perhaps she could catch something from the ocean. This idea was quickly shelved when she realised she had nowhere to cook it. She had never felt so helpless in her life. She put her head on her knees and began to cry.

 

There was only one more thing left for her to try, one last-ditch attempt that she had always derided book characters for doing. However, she now saw nothing to lose. She lay down and closed her eyes. With any luck, she would wake up and find herself safely back home before the start of this horrible day. Even though her rational mind told her this was as impossible as true love’s kiss waking someone from a coma, she was desperate enough to try.

 

She squeezed her eyes shut. It was not difficult to relax. The sand was soft, the cool breeze was soothing and the lapping of the waves was hypnotic. All this lulled her into sleep.

 

She woke when pain shot up her right arm and leg. She blinked in the sunlight. The sun’s position still had not changed so she was not sure how long she had been asleep. But looking at the state of her arm, she guessed it was a long time. The right side of her body, exposed in her shorts and tank top, was red and starting to blister. She had been there long enough for the sun to burn her, and had felt it only when she tried to roll over in her sleep.

 

“No, no, no,” she moaned. Her last hope evaporated. This was not a simple nightmare. And now she had to contend with sunburn on top of everything else. She looked for her wand and found it where she had thrown it earlier. It was half buried in the sand. She wracked her brain for a healing spell. She knew several remedies for burns and blisters, but all of them involved potions, not spells. Tears filled her eyes again. She was tired, her arm and leg hurt, she was thirsty and hungry, and she just wanted to go home.

 

She had only one choice. She swallowed her pride and began the walk of shame back to the cottage. She bit her lip, rallied her defences and pushed open the front door. Draco was still on the sofa. His hair was rumpled. For a moment, she thought he looked relieved. But that impression vanished when he opened his mouth. “You’re still here.”

 

“Yes, I am. I hope you’re happy.” She walked further into the cottage.

 

He stared at her as she walked past. “Are you all right?”

 

Hermione realised she had been cradling her right arm. She quickly let go. “Why would you care?”

 

“I… don’t.”

 

“Good, because I don’t want your pity.” She went to the kitchen and began opening cabinets, hoping to find something for sunburn. She heard Draco follow her and glanced his way. She almost stopped short to see him clad in a T-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He looked practically normal, nothing like the spoilt rich brat she was used to.

 

“Are you satisfied now?” he asked from the doorway.

 

“What?”

 

“I told you there was no way out of here. Do you believe me now? Have you tried every single spell you know?”

 

“You were right. That’s right, I said it. You were right; we are stuck here.” She felt a little like a rebellious teenager caught in trouble and Draco her parent saying “I told you so”.

 

“What are you looking for? What happened to your arm and leg? You’re redder than a lobster, but only on one side.”

 

“None of your business,” Hermione snapped. Her search was turning up no medical supplies. She supposed she could settle for running cold water over her burns.

 

But when she reached for the tap, Draco yelled “No!”

 

He sounded so panicked that she stopped and asked, “What? What is it?”

 

His hand was reached out towards her and his eyes were wild. But then he clenched his fist and withdrew his hand. “I just… If you turn the tap on, you’ll mess up my perfect calibration.” He nodded at the pail in the sink. The water level inside was much lower than when she had last seen it.

 

Anger surged in her. “Well, excuse me for thinking that stopping my skin from peeling off was more important than you being able to tell the time, Malfoy!” Hermione shouted. “I didn’t ask to be here and spoil your solitary retreat.”

 

“I didn’t ask to be here either, Granger,” Draco said coldly. “And if you had told me what you wanted, I might have told you that there’s a Muggle first-aid kit in the bathroom inside the bedroom. But why would you believe anything I say? The great Hermione Granger must verify everything before she accepts anything.”

 

“Oh shut up!” Hermione threw her hands in the air and pushed past him into the bedroom. She noticed in passing that the bed had been inexpertly made. But it was the bathroom she was after.

 

The en-suite bathroom was luxurious. An enormous Jacuzzi dominated the floor space while a crystal chandelier reigned overhead. A modern and spacious rain shower ran along one side of the room. The other was lined with two sinks and vanities. Fluffy white towels were rolled up on the counters, next to an array of toiletries. Some were already open; she assumed Draco had taken a shower at some point. Strangely enough, dishwashing soap and a scouring brush were also placed next to the sink.

 

Hermione opened the cabinet under the sinks and found the first-aid kit. She considered how she was going to apply the medication left-handed.

 

There was a knock on the door. It was Draco. “Granger, you might like to know that clothes appeared in the wardrobe for you,” he called. “I recommend a shower. There’s food in the fridge too. I’ll be down at the beach. Don’t touch the kitchen tap.”

 

“Ok,” she called. He was so infuriating. He “recommended a shower”, indeed! She didn’t smell… much. But she _did_ feel uncomfortable, what with the sand, sweat and sunburn. Grudgingly, she accepted that Draco’s suggestion was not the worst one.

 

It was odd showering in such a huge space. She was used to smaller showering cubicles. The water felt good against her burnt skin, though she was determined not to tell Draco that. She wrapped one of the towels around her when she was done and clumsily applied cool aloe vera gel onto her skin. Then, she pondered over whether to open the bathroom door clad in nothing but a towel. Draco had said he was going to the beach, but was he lying?

 

She cracked open the bathroom door and peeked out. The bedroom was empty. The curtains were drawn and the overhead light was on. The door leading to the living room was also closed. Once again, Draco had told the truth about giving her privacy. She decided to believe him about the clothes too. The wardrobe he mentioned was a large dark brown one that stood against the wall next to the bathroom door. Opening it, Hermione found it divided into two sections, one containing men’s clothes and the other women’s. She rummaged through the clothes. There were casual T-shirts and dressier tops, as well as dresses, jumpers and jeans; everything she would need.

 

“What sort of magic is this?” she wondered. She picked a lavender jumper, a pair of jeans and some sneakers. Everything fit her just right.

 

Draco was nowhere to be seen when Hermione went out to the kitchen. According to the pail, it was probably 11.30am. No wonder she had been burned; she had spent over twenty hours out in the sun. Her stomach growled even louder than before. She went to the fridge. Like the wardrobe, this contained plenty of offerings. She made herself a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich, and washed it down with milk.

 

Her hunger satiated, she felt inclined to be more charitable towards Draco. She probably should let him know he could return to the cottage now if he wanted to. But how would she do that? He had left more than an hour ago and she had no idea where to find him. She went to the front door, hoping for some sign of the general direction he was in.

 

A set of perfect footprints in the sand led from the porch steps down to the beach. Hermione followed them and found Draco seated on the sand, staring at the waves. His unguarded expression was unexpectedly soft.

 

“Hey, Malfoy,” she called.

 

He turned to her. “Granger. I see you took my advice on that shower. And it didn’t even kill you to do it.”

 

“Yes, well, even a broken clock is right twice a day,” she sat next to him, careful to maintain a good distance.

 

“So, you think I’m broken, do you? How typical. You think you know everything,” he sneered.

 

Hermione wanted to pummel him. Was he incapable of being nice? “While you may be right sometimes, I know you can’t be trusted most of the time.”

 

“Did you ever bother to get to know me? Or did you blindly believe whatever Potter and Weasley said?” he asked.

 

“You called me Mudblood. That’s all I need to know about you.” Hermione stared Draco right in the eye, daring him to make an excuse. He held her gaze. Looking into his grey eyes was like staring into a stormy sky, like there was a whole other world hidden on the other side of the thick clouds.

 

He looked away first. “I guess I deserve that,” he conceded. “I’m sorry.”

 

“What?” Hermione was not sure if she had heard him correctly.

 

“If we’re going to be stuck here together for the foreseeable future, we might as well be civil,” Draco said. “So, I’m sorry I called you… that.”

 

“Oh, um… well…” Hermione sputtered. “Ok. Apology accepted. Just don’t do it again.” Awkward silence fell over them. “Do you really think we’re stuck here?”

 

“Your guess is as good as mine, Granger,” Draco said. “Probably better. I hear you’re a genius at unravelling riddles and puzzles. You helped Potter with enough of them since First Year.”

 

“Yes, but I had information to work with – clues, patterns,” Hermione argued. “This seems random. There isn’t a clear line of causation.”

 

“Opening a book and coming here?”

 

“Why that book? Why here? Why us? It makes no sense.”

 

Draco thought. “Was it the same book? A cheap romance novel type book? In a rare books shop with a Welsh-sounding name?”

 

“Llewlyn Bromly Smyth,” Hermione clarified. “And the book was ‘Paradise Cove’ by Beverley P. Nebbett.”

 

Draco shrugged. “Something like that. I didn’t pay much attention. It stuck out from the rest of those antique books though.”

 

“I found it lying on the ground… where you dropped it,” she realised.

 

“And you picked it up. What are the odds?” He smiled a wide genuine smile. Hermione had never seen him so open and unguarded. She couldn’t help but smile back.

 

“Look!” Draco stood and pointed at the sun. Hermione wondered what he was doing. He pointed again. “It’s moved.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on!”

 

He ran back to the cottage, dragging her along behind. It was all she could do to keep her footing. They burst into the living room. The grandfather clock, previously stuck at six o’clock, now showed 7.30.

 

“It’s changed,” Draco breathed. “Something happened. What happened? Why the change?” He ran his fingers through his hair and paced the room.

 

“We didn’t do anything; we were just talking,” Hermione said. She thought over what they had said. “Llewlyn Bromly Smyth **.** ‘Paradise Cove’ by Beverley P. Nebbett,” she tried. Nothing happened.

 

“Have you lost your mind, Granger?”

 

Hermione scowled. “No. I thought maybe it was something we said. Like a password.”

 

Draco’s shoulders slumped. “No. We didn’t say anything special. Except for those, everything else was just ordinary words. It’s too random.” He sat heavily on the back of the sofa. “I should have known. This was too good to be true.”

 

“No.” Hermione planted herself firmly in front of him. “We are not giving up. This is progress. Another piece of the puzzle. We just don’t have enough pieces yet. But we will find them. I know it. They’re right under our noses.”

 

Draco’s expression was hard when he looked at her. “Is this the kind of pep talk you give Potter and Weasley?” he sneered. “It was more than useless.”

 

Hermione’s eyes prickled. “I’ve helped them so much more than you know.”

 

“Gold star.” He pushed himself up from the sofa and went to the front door.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Away from here.”

 

He left the door open. Hermione went and shouted at his retreating figure. “Great. I don’t want you anywhere near me either.” She slammed the door hard. She didn’t need him. She would figure this out on her own.


	4. We make a good team

Hermione spent the rest of the day searching the cottage to discover its secrets. Besides the wardrobe and the fridge that seemed to act like the Hogwarts Room of Requirement, she also found a back room with a dining table and a storage cupboard with swimming things, mackintoshes, an enormous beach umbrella, an orange and red kite, and a large packet of silver balloons. She opened and shut the cupboard door several times, but nothing seemed to have changed.

 

She wanted to sit on the sofa, but it was clear that Draco had taken it over as a bed. A pillow was propped against one arm and a twisted nest of sheets and blankets covered the rest of the seats. She felt slightly touched that he had given up the bedroom for her. He couldn’t have been comfortable sleeping on the sofa, given his tall frame. She did not want to disturb his sleeping area, so she ended up going out to the porch swing. It was still a beautiful day outside and the swinging motion relaxed her. She pulled her legs up and curled onto her side. Her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep.

 

She woke to the banging of pots. Going inside, however, she found the kitchen empty. According to the pail, it was nearly 7pm. A packet of spaghetti and some vegetables were laid out on the kitchen island. Sounds continued to ring out in the house.

 

“Malfoy?” she called. “Is that you?” She reached for her wand, just in case.

 

Draco emerged from the bedroom carrying a copper pot full of water. “Of course, it’s me,” he grumbled.

 

Hermione stuck the wand back in her pocket. “What are you doing?”

 

He put the pot on the stove and poked it with his wand. Flames appeared and crackled merrily. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

 

“I’d say cooking, but you don’t strike me as someone who knows how,” Hermione said.

 

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

 

“I didn’t say that. But I thought you had a house elf, so you never had to learn how to cook.”

 

Draco gave her a scathing look. “I’m no chef but I can put a meal together. I do have top marks in Potions.”

 

“I thought that was because Snape favoured you.”

 

He smirked. “I won’t deny that played a part. But even he can’t turn a D into an O.” He pulled the vegetables towards him and began shredding lettuce with his fingers, putting them in a large salad bowl.

 

Hermione decided to help. She retrieved a knife and started slicing tomatoes. “Have you been surviving on pasta for a week?”

 

“Pasta, sandwiches, soup… The fridge is always stocked. It’s not that difficult to cook. Just boil up everything in a pot.” The water began to bubble and he slid the pasta in.

 

“You should put in some salt and olive oil too,” Hermione suggested. “It would taste very bland otherwise.”

 

He gave her a small smile and did as she said, stirring as he did so. “Do you know how to cook anything else?”

 

“I make a fair cheese sandwich. Maybe I’ll make one for you tomorrow.”

 

“I look forward to it,” Draco grinned. “Now, hand me two eggs, will you? I’ll boil them for the salad.”

 

Hermione picked out two from a basket next to the fridge and held them out. Draco’s fingers brushed against hers as he took them, sending a tingle through her. It seemed that he felt it too, since he almost dropped the eggs. “The static is really strong,” he said unconvincingly. He put the eggs into the boiling water, jerking away quickly as some drops splashed out.

 

“Are you all right?” she asked. His hand was red.

 

“Yes, I’ve had worse in Potions.”

 

“I’ve never seen you make a mistake in Potions.”

 

“ _I_ haven’t. But when you work with people like Crabbe and Goyle, accidents happen.”

 

“I know what you mean. Neville’s always getting up to something.” She braced herself for Draco to say something mean.

 

To her surprise, he did not comment. Instead, he dispelled the fire and held up the pot. “Could you help me strain this?”

 

“Of course.” She jumped up and found the strainer in the drying rack. She held it over the sink, as far from the dripping tap as she could. Draco slowly poured out the spaghetti. Clouds of steam engulfed them. This was the closest she had ever come to Draco and she was keenly aware of him, how his hip pressed against her and how the lean muscles on his arms flexed. He finished pouring, put the pot aside and took the strainer from her. “We make a good team,” he said.

 

She smiled. “Pasta masters,” she agreed. She watched him put the pasta onto plates and drizzle olive oil and herbs on. She felt a warm feeling surge inside. He looked so domestic. She shook off the feeling. “Why don’t you finish up here? I’ll go set the table.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

Hermione found cutlery in a drawer. As she went outside, she passed the grandfather clock and noticed something. “Malfoy!” she shrieked.

 

Draco came running. “What is it?”

 

“It’s 9.30!”

 

He gaped. “But how?” he wondered. “Two hours this time. It was an hour and thirty minutes before. And we were doing completely different things.”

 

“We were also talking,” Hermione pointed out.

 

“We’ve talked before, but it didn’t move then.”

 

“You’re right. It must be something else…” she trailed off thoughtfully.

 

Draco laughed. “I know that look. And before you go to your mind palace, can we at least eat our lovely dinner before it gets cold?”

 

That made her laugh. “That would be a terrible disaster.”

 

Over dinner, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find that Draco was an easy person to talk to when he opened up. He also could keep up with her, something that she found rare when she was talking to anyone other than the teachers. He knew about pieces of obscure magic, and they had a lively conversation as they discussed theories for the situation they were in.

 

Hermione reached for the dishes after they had eaten. “You cooked. I’ll clean,” she offered.

 

“We both cooked,” Draco corrected. He picked up the dishes and carried them towards the bedroom.

 

“Er… Malfoy, the kitchen’s over there,” she pointed in the opposite direction.

 

“I’m aware,” he said. “But I can’t use the kitchen tap.”

 

“Ah yes, the dripping tap,” she teased.

 

“Laugh all you want, Granger. You haven’t experienced being alone in a place where time doesn’t move.” He said this quietly enough for her to realise he was not joking. She considered his words. Being here in this unchanging environment was unnerving, but at least she had Draco to explain things and keep her company. He had spent five days utterly alone here. She could not imagine what it must have been like. She joined him in the bathroom, intending to apologise.

 

Draco did not push her away but he did not seem inclined to continue any conversation beyond the purely functional. He washed the dishes and Hermione dried them and took them to the kitchen to put away. They then took turns cleaning up and getting ready for bed.

 

Hermione felt strange lying in the huge bed. It was difficult to sleep, knowing that it was broad daylight outside. She had drawn the curtains but sunlight still leaked through. She stared at the ceiling. Shadows played across the exposed beams, reminding her of the rare books shop. She turned over the events of the day, trying to find a common thread.

 

The pieces fell into place. She leaped out of bed and yanked the bedroom door open. “Malfoy!”

 

“Wha…?” Draco had been sprawled on the too-small sofa and her yell caused him to fall onto the floor. He was on his feet in an instant though, wand held in a duelling position. Seeing that it was only Hermione, he let his arm fall and sat down. “This had better be good, Granger,” he growled.

 

She sat next to him. “I’ve figured it out. This place, this spell and possibly how to get out of here.” Draco raised an eyebrow. She squirmed, feeling like she was taking a test. His gaze made her feel unsettled.

 

“Are you going to tell me?” he finally asked. “Or are you gloating because you’ve solved it and I haven’t?”

 

“Right, I mean, no, I mean…” she sputtered. She looked away from him. It helped. “I was trying to connect the dots. I believe ‘Paradise Cove’ is a portal book containing a little pocket dimension – similar to the Room of Requirement but designed around specific parameters. In this case, it throws two people together and lines up everything like a journey they have to take. Every time they take a step forward, time also moves forward.”

 

“That makes sense,” Draco said. “But what journey are we on?”

 

Hermione began blushing. “Considering the book, the poem and this place… I think Beverley P. Nebbett created it as a… matchmaking tool. Time passes when acts that are considered romantic are performed. According to the poem, we have a day and a night to get through. ‘ _A treasure map that doesn’t make sense till you’re holding what you want firmly in your grasp._ ’” She looked at Draco for his opinion. His eyes were wide and he was staring at her again. “Malfoy? Say something.”

 

“You’re telling me that the only way out of here is to fall in love with each other?” he asked with a growing look of horror.

 

Hermione scowled. “Trust me, I don’t want to fall in love with you either,” she assured him. His expression hardened. “But I’m sure it counts if we go through the motions. It should be easy. I can draw up a list. We could start right now.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Yes. We could…” Hermione looked around for inspiration. “We could snuggle. That’s romantic, right?” She inched closer to him. He stood up and backed away.

 

“Granger, stop. Are you drunk?” he asked.

 

Hermione got to her feet too. “No. But I want to get out of here and I know you do too. So, stop wasting time. Time stands still here but it’s ticking by in the real world. So, we are going to sit down, put our arms each other and wait for that bloody clock to move.”

 

Draco grimaced. “That wasn’t an answer to my question, but as long as you don’t say I took advantage of you…” He sat and gingerly put an arm around her, pulling her to him. She put a hand on his knee and rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled like fresh snow. They sat stiffly at first, then Hermione relaxed into him. It was really quite comfortable here, more so than the enormous bed had been. He began playing with her hair, twisting her curls around his fingers.

 

“It’s 9.40,” Draco noted.

 

“Ten minutes. At least we know how it works now,” Hermione replied. She yawned. “Maybe if we stay longer, it’ll move more.”

 

“Maybe…” Draco echoed. He adjusted his arm so that it hung limply over her shoulder. It was a comforting weight.

 

She snuggled closer to him and put her arms around his waist, like she had seen people do on the telly, and closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Draco.”

 


	5. How wizards fly kites

The clock still showed 9.40 when Hermione woke and found herself lying on the sofa with a blanket draped over her. The front door was open and she saw Draco leaning against a post on the porch. She joined him. “Good morning.”

 

“Good morning, Granger.” He held a red mug in his hands.

 

“You know, you probably should start calling me Hermione,” she suggested. “That might add a minute or two to the clock.”

 

His lips curled up. “Are you going to use my name then, _Hermione_?”

 

It felt strangely intimate to hear her name on his lips. “Of course, I will, _Draco_. Have you had breakfast?”

 

He nodded. “I left some boiled eggs on the stove for you. You were sleeping so soundly.

 

She went to the kitchen and found the eggs, adding a slice of bread to the meal. She came back out and sat on the porch steps, balancing her plate on her knees. “What are we doing today?”

 

“Aren’t you the one drawing up a list?”

 

She swore she heard teasing in his voice. It was a side of Draco she had never imagined existed before. “I just wondered if you had any preferences. I don’t know what wizards find romantic.”

 

“I suppose you think a wizard’s perfect date is a night of collecting herbs under a full moon, bathing in the blood of virgins, then finding some house elves to enslave?” Draco’s voice went cold. “We’re not that different from Muggles. I thought Weasley would have taught you that.”

 

“Ron isn’t really representative of wizards, you know,” Hermione said slowly, loath to recall the fact that the Weasleys were considered “blood traitors” in the wizarding world. “And it’s not as if I’ve had much experience with wizards like you. The last time I saw pure-blood wizards on a night out, they were wearing hoods and torturing Muggles for fun.”

 

Draco winced. “Not all of us are like that,” he said quickly. There was a pause. Then he said: “There’s a kite in the back cupboard. Would you like to fly it together?”

 

Hermione smiled. “Now that’s a good suggestion. Let me finish my breakfast and get changed.”

 

In less than half an hour, Hermione and Draco were walking across the beach, kite in hand. Draco was aiming towards a rocky peninsula that jutted out like a finger into the ocean. When they got there, Hermione saw that the ground was pitted with little tidal pools.

 

“We’ll break our ankles if we run over this,” she remarked.

 

Draco climbed up effortlessly. “Why would we run?”

 

She looked incredulously at him. “You have to run so the wind catches the kite. That’s how they fly.”

 

He smirked. “That’s so…” He stopped short, as though about to say something biting but thought better of it. “…interesting of Muggles,” he finished lamely.

 

Hermione thought she should give him some points for suppressing his Muggle-hating instincts, so she said nothing. She followed Draco’s lead, carefully picking her way over the rocks and taking care where she placed her feet. Suddenly, a small crab scuttled across her path. She yelped and tripped, falling forward.

 

Draco was there almost immediately. “Are you all right?” he asked. He checked her hands, which she had thrown out to brace herself against the fall. There were some scrapes, but nothing serious. He gently brushed the sand away. “You’re fine,” he concluded. “Just be careful.” He offered her his hand and helped her clamber to her feet. As they continued the walk to the end of the peninsula, he constantly turned round to see if she was still in one piece.

 

The view at the end was breathtaking. Before them was sparking blue open water as far as the eye could see. With the huge expanse of sky above them, it was almost as if they were floating.

 

Draco turned to her with a wide smile. “Impressed yet?”

 

“How did you find this place?” Hermione demanded.

 

“Five days alone here has its perks,” he said. He handed her the kite.

 

“Wait, what about the string?” Hermione asked.

 

A corner of his mouth quirked up. He took a length of string from his pocket. “Here. Knock yourself out.”

 

Hermione knew he was up to something, but she could not figure out what. She busied herself with tying up the kite and holding the end of the string tightly. “I still don’t see how it’s going to fly. We can’t catch the wind just standing here.”

 

“Oh ye of little faith,” Draco said. He took out his wand. “Turn and face the sea. Hold up the kite. Up over your head.”

 

She did as he said, holding it as high as she could. “What are you doing? This is ridiculous.”

 

“This is how wizards fly kites,” he said. “Ventum Brissen.”

 

A breeze blew behind her and pulled the kite out of her grasp. She hurriedly grabbed at the string to stop the kite from getting away. It tugged at the line like a creature wanting to be free. She pulled to make it go one way, then the other. The kite danced merrily, an orange and red speck in the sky. Draco came up to stand next to her, still holding his wand up.

 

“Wizards are cheaters,” she teased. “Part of the fun is running around trying to catch a breeze.”

 

Draco grinned. “This way’s faster. And you don’t get all hot and bothered and can’t enjoy it.”

 

“What was that spell you did? Ventum…?”

 

“Brissen.”

 

Hermione handed him the string and took out her own wand. “Ventum Brissen,” she said, pointing at the kite. The wind she conjured was so strong that it almost blew her into the ocean. Draco grabbed her shirt but let go of the kite string. She reached for it but was moments too late. The kite slipped far away. “No!” she berated. “Why didn’t you hold it tighter? Now we’ve lost the kite!”

 

“Have we?” Draco aimed with his wand. A sea breeze blew, bringing the kite back. He put his hand over Hermione’s, tugging her wand down and stopping her wind. The kite came back to them. “Let me show you another trick.” He inclined his wand slightly and the breeze changed direction, making the kite loop in circles. “ _This_ is how wizards have fun while flying kites.” He made the kite perform a few more tricks. “Now, you try.”

 

He released the kite and it plummeted towards the sea. Hermione quickly lifted her wand, releasing another blast of wind that made the kite shoot up.

 

“Careful. We want a breeze, not a tornado.” Draco put his hand over hers again. “Relax.” He guided her hand, adjusting her grip slightly. The wind softened. “You’re not pushing the kite up but letting it rest on the wind.”

 

He took another step closer to her and wound his arm around her waist. Hermione jumped and the kite bucked then dropped. Draco laughed as she huffed and regained control of the wind. He leaned in, almost whispering in her ear. “You’re doing great, Hermione.”

 

“Who knew you were such a flirt?” she said, a little unsteadily. No boy had ever been so close. Not Ron nor Harry nor even Viktor Krum whom she had dated for a while in fourth year. Boys tended to behave cautiously and even a little shyly around her. Draco was another thing altogether. He threw her off balance. She did not like it, but yet found herself wanting to see what he would do next.

 

“You have no idea,” he teased. He stepped back and Hermione heard the crinkle of paper. She began to turn around but Draco admonished her. “Focus.”

 

She heard a rustle and felt the brush of wings against her ear. To her surprise, a small paper crane fluttered by and up into the sky. It hovered around the larger kite before swooping and dipping, flying circles in the air.

 

“It moves like a real bird.” She turned to Draco, who had a satisfied look on his face. “How did you do that?”

 

“A lot of birds nest in the grounds at Malfoy Manor. I often watch them when I don’t have anything else to do.”

 

“I never pegged you as a bird watcher,” Hermione said, intrigued.

 

He smiled and brought his paper crane to rest on his hand. He started making soft chirping sounds.

 

Hermione was fascinated. “What bird is that?”

 

“Tree pipit.”

 

“What else can you do?”

 

There was a gleam in his eye. He waved his wand over the paper bird. It began to change shape, squishing down from a crane into an owl. He hooted a deep low tone.

 

“An owl,” Hermione said confidently.

 

“Yes. An eagle owl, to be exact,” Draco corrected. “You’re probably more familiar with Potter’s owl.” He let out a series of hoots that sounded like barking.

 

“That’s Hedwig!”

 

“And…” he squawked a high-pitched call.

 

“Pigwidgeon!”

 

“Is _that_ its name? Weasley’s owl?”

 

“How do you know so much about owls?” Hermione demanded. “You must go up to the Owlery a lot.”

 

He shrugged and stuffed the paper owl into his pocket. “Are you hungry? It should be nearly lunchtime. Let’s see if you can bring the kite in.”

 

“Oh, the kite!” Hermione searched for it. In her distraction, she had not noticed it get low, hovering just above the waves. “Accio!” The kite zoomed right into her outstretched hand.

 

“That’s cheating,” Draco said. He was smiling though. He took her hand. “Don’t want you falling into another hole and breaking your neck on the way back.”

 

“I’m fine, Draco,” Hermione protested. But she let him hold her hand anyway. It felt good to hold on to him. They walked hand-in-hand back to the cottage.


	6. Paradise cove

It was 1.05 when Draco and Hermione got back to the cottage.

 

“Three hours and twenty-five minutes,” Hermione announced in satisfaction. “Half a day is gone.”

 

“Now we know for sure that it works,” Draco said. He trudged to the storage cupboard and put away the kite. “What’s next on the list of activities?”

 

“How about lunch first?” Hermione suggested. “I did promise you a sandwich.” She headed to the kitchen, Draco following at her heels.

 

“Lunch sounds great,” he said. “I’ll give you a hand.”

 

Hermione stuck her head in the fridge, inspecting the contents. As expected, everything she needed was there – packs of various cheeses and a tub of butter. A loaf of fresh sourdough bread was already on the kitchen island.

 

“Do you ever wonder where all this food comes from?” she asked.

 

Draco, leaning on his elbows at the island, shook his head. “As long as we don’t have to starve, I’m not questioning it.”

 

“Boys,” Hermione muttered. She pushed the cheese towards him. “Grate this,” she ordered. She cut the bread and buttered it. Soon, two cheese sandwiches were merrily grilling in a pan. When they were done, she scooped them onto plates. Draco poured two glasses of milk and took them out to the porch. Both of them looked anxiously at the clock as they passed.

 

“It’s still 1.05,” Draco observed. “Why didn’t it move? It moved when we made dinner last night.”

 

“Maybe we can’t do the same thing twice,” Hermione suggested. “This makes things trickier.” They sat to eat, Hermione on the swing and Draco on the step, leaning on a post. “What do you want to do this afternoon?”

 

Draco looked out over the beach. “The tide looks like it’s in. How about swimming?”

 

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

 

“Perhaps skinny dipping would earn us extra minutes,” Draco quipped.

 

Hermione threw a swing cushion at him. “That was not a gentlemanly remark.”

 

“When have you known me to be any sort of gentleman?” Draco shot back. “And relax, Hermione, it was just a joke. I’m sure the cottage will provide swimsuits for both of us.”

 

The cottage did, indeed, provide. Hermione grimaced as she put on the very very tiny black bikini that had appeared for her. It wasn’t that she thought her body was imperfect; she just didn’t want to show Draco this much skin. She was practically naked. She shifted through the wardrobe, hoping a more covered one-piece suit would appear. But there wasn’t even a robe she could put on.

 

Growling, she went through Draco’s side and took down the largest button-down shirt she could find. It would have to do as a cover.

 

Draco’s eyebrows shot up when she emerged from the room. She felt his eyes going up and down, and she tugged at the hem of the shirt to try and pull it down more. “Don’t say anything,” she warned.

 

“You do know we’re going swimming,” Draco said pointedly. He was clad in bright purple swimshorts with a pattern of gold stars.

 

“Yes, and I feel like wearing this. What of it?” She lifted her chin defiantly, though still not daring to let go of the hem.

 

Draco shrugged. “To each his own.”

 

Hermione made him walk in front of her, giving her an excellent view of his bare upper body. His skin was blindingly pale. His shorts hung loosely around his hips, showing the curve of his back and his muscles, which flexed as he walked. He was, by no means, chiseled, but there was something appealing about his leanness.

 

Hermione had seen Harry and Ron topless before. They had all gone swimming together in the pond at the Burrow. But it felt different with Draco, like something forbidden yet enticing. She wanted more.

 

She was jerked out of her thoughts when he turned around suddenly. “We’re here,” he announced with a grin.

 

They were in a sheltered cove ringed by large boulders. Hermione recognised it as the cove printed on the “Paradise Cove” book cover. The water was so clear that they could see right to the fine white sand at the bottom. Draco climbed up a boulder then leaped off it into the water. He came up dripping water, his fair hair all over his face. “Coming?” he called, looking at her expectantly.

 

Hermione took a deep breath. She still did not feel like taking off her shirt, so she waded into the water with the fabric billowing around her. Draco looked disappointed, but she ignored him, striking out to swim with strong sure strokes. The water was perfect – cool and refreshing despite the hot mid-day sun. Draco kept pace next to her. His smile was the broadest she had seen yet and she could feel him staring at her. Every time she glanced his way, he grinned and splashed her.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked after it happened for the sixth time.

 

‘Trying to see how long it’ll be before you take that shirt off,” he answered. “It can’t be comfortable swimming with all that cloth.”

 

“Maybe I like swimming like this,” she retorted lamely.

 

Draco scoffed. He dove down, deliberately making as big a splash as he could. He headed back to shore and Hermione followed suit. Watching him emerge from the water was like watching a moving piece of art. His skin had taken on a healthy glow in the sun. Rivulets of water streamed down his body, glistening like diamonds. His shorts clung to his legs, leaving very little to the imagination. Hermione did not realise she was staring until a clod of sand fell into the water close to her.

 

“Are you going to stand there all day?” he called.

 

Embarrassed, she went underwater and swam until she ran out of air. When she got out, she was glad to see that Draco had moved to another part of the beach and was industriously heaping sand into a pile.

 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

 

Draco looked up at her question and a wicked gleam came into his eye. Hermione looked down at herself. To her horror, the wet shirt clung to her body in a more revealing way than she liked. She quickly tugged at it.

 

“Please, don’t make any adjustments on my account,” Draco smirked.

 

“Shut up. Go back to your…” she waved a hand over the pile, “…whatever it is you’re doing.”

 

“It’s a sandcastle,” Draco informed her. “I hear Muggles make them all the time when they go to the beach. I thought I’d give it a try.”

 

“Well done. It’s a _wonderful_ castle.” Hermione packed as much biting sarcasm as she could into the word.

 

Draco’s grin was impish. “I have many hidden talents.”

 

Hermione bent down, scooped a handful of sand into a ball and threw it at him. He scambled to get out of the way. “You’re ruining my castle!”

 

“You are such a… a… cad!”

 

“A what? Who even uses that word nowadays?”

 

“It fits. You are no kind of gentleman.”

 

“You’re already said that today. Anyway, what of you? You’ve been oogling me all day. That’s no behaviour for a lady. I fully expect a fair exchange, by the way.”

 

Hermione threw another sandball at him. “I was not oogling you. You were just in my line of sight.”

 

The sandball fell harmlessly at his feet. Hermione began making another one.

 

“Itching for a fight, Granger?” Draco scooped up some sand himself. “You’re on.”

 

“You’re going down!” Hermione shouted, lobbing her sandball. This one connected with his bicep and splattered. He sent one flying towards her, hitting her left shoulder hard. “Ow! That hurt. I’m going to kill you!”

 

“Not if I get you first!” He threw another that connected squarely with her thigh. That was surely going to bruise.

 

The air was soon thick with flying sandballs. Hermione’s strategy was to pick up sand, form them into balls and and lob them as she went. Draco, however, scooped up an armful of his “sandcastle” and pelted her until the sand ran out. Her sandballs probably hurt more than his sloppily shaped ones, but his were annoying. He was fast too, darting about and getting out of range quickly. She shrieked when he dashed up to her and stuffed a large handful of sand down her neck. She grabbed some of that sand and smeared it over his laughing face.

 

Draco stopped laughing and stepped away. His hands were at his eyes and he was wincing.

 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, going to him.

 

“Sand in my eyes.” His eyes were turning red and teary and he seemed to have trouble keeping them open. He blinked hard and tried to rub his eyes.

 

Hermione caught hold of his hands. “Don’t rub it. It’ll only make things worse.”

 

“I don’t think it can get any worse. I think I’m going blind.” He shook his head to try to dislodge the sand, to no avail.

 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Hermione chided. She was worried though. She needed clean water to wash out his eyes, but she had none there. Their wands were both back at the cottage, but it would take too long to walk back. She was certain that Draco’s groans of pain were mostly justified. “I’ve got an idea. Hold still.”

 

She pulled down the sleeve of her shirt and shook it free of sand. She then gently wiped at Draco’s eyes. The larger grains came away easily. His hands instinctively reached up but she pulled them away. “I told you, no rubbing. If you do, you’ll really go blind.”

 

“I can’t help it,” Draco whined. “It stings. Salt water and eyeballs were never meant to go together.”

 

“You’re such a baby. Now, open your eyes wide and look at me.”

 

He obeyed, though his hands wound around her waist as he did so. Hermione let him; it meant he wasn’t trying to rub his eyes. “All right, I think I got most of it. Now, blink. Your tears will wash away the rest for now.”

 

It was hard for her not to laugh at him blinking like an owl. But his blinks gradually became slower until he was staring straight at her and into her eyes. Hermione knew she should look away, but she could not bring herself to. She wanted to keep staring into his stormy grey eyes and lose herself in them.

 

His arm around her waist drew her closer to him, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. She breathed him in. He smelled of salt, sun and something fresh. There was barely any space between them now. He put a hand under her chin, angling her face up to meet his.

 

When their lips touched, it was like electricity jolting through her. She had never felt so alive. His lips were soft but his kiss was hard, pulling her to him. She wound her arms around his neck, greedily wanting more of him, to be closer to him. He held her, and she could sense his longing as well. The cove around them fell away, the ocean muted and the gulls went silent. It was only the two of them.

 

Then, Draco pulled abruptly away. “What was that?” he asked sharply.

 

 


	7. An explosive storm

Hermione felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her. She stepped back, stung by Draco’s words. He was still looking at her in disbelief and shock. She was sure her own expression was the same. He rubbed at his eyes, but she was too frozen to tell him not to do it.

 

“Did we just…?” Draco trailed off. He was now looking everywhere except at her.

 

“You tell me. You were there,” she replied coldly.

 

“No!” He turned and strode up the beach, almost running in his haste to get away.

 

Hermione gaped at his retreating figure. What did he mean by that? She chased after him, but it was not until they reached the cottage that she caught up with him. He was in the bedroom, roughly pulling out clothing from the wardrobe. She grabbed his arm. “What is the matter with you?” she shouted. “Am I so repulsive to you that you had to run away immediately after kissing me?”

 

He looked at her hand on his arm. “Let go, Granger.” His voice was tight with warning. His eyes were darker now, twin hurricanes brewing within.

 

“Not until you answer me.”

 

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Draco shook off her hand and headed for the bathroom.

 

Hermione snatched up her wand. “Colloportus!” The bathroom door as well as the bedroom door squelched shut.

 

Draco’s face was murderous as he turned to face her. “What do you want, Granger?” he demanded.

 

“I want to know why you’re acting like this!” she exclaimed. “You know we’re both stuck here and you know what we have to do to get out. Why are you being such an arse?”

 

Draco balled up his clothes and flung them to the floor. Hermione felt like he would much rather be doing something else more violent but was restraining himself. He clenched his fists. “That’s just it. We have to do romantic things with each other until we get out. What happens after that? We become sworn enemies again? You, Potter and Weasley resume your perfect little lives and pretend all this never happened?”

 

“You think my life is perfect?” Hermione scoffed. “How about all the times you and your minions tormented us and got us into trouble for no reason? When you sold out Hagrid? Or when you made my teeth grow into those fangs? Better still, why don’t we talk about all those times you called me _Mudblood_?” Draco visibly winced at that but Hermione did not care. “You’re one to talk about having a perfect life. You act like you’re so superior, strutting about and lording over everyone else. It’s probably killing you that all your family power and influence don’t mean a single thing out here. Romancing me is an absolute nightmare for you, isn’t it? Well, news flash, Malfoy, I don’t like this anymore than you do but I’m willing to work with you to end it. I don’t understand why you can’t get that.”

 

“You don’t know anything!” Draco roared. He pushed past her to the bedroom door. Hermione felt his magic flare as he overrode her Locking spell and wrenched it open. The front door slammed hard, causing the entire cottage to tremble, and then Draco was gone.

 

Hermione screamed her frustration to the empty room. She would have liked nothing more than to go after Draco and curse him into oblivion. He was right – she didn’t understand him at all. But how could she, when he refused to tell her anything? When everything he said was vague and evasive? And then, there was the kiss. What did it mean? Hermione thought she knew about relationships and emotions, especially those of boys, but she was at a loss.

 

She went to the bed and pummelled a pillow until the stuffing flew everywhere. That made her feel slightly better. She also decided to take a long cool bath. Washing off the salt, sand and sweat of the day at the beach certainly lifted her spirits.

 

Draco was still gone when she came out. The light in the cottage was different. She glanced at the clock. It showed 5.50. Nearly five hours had gone by while they were at the beach. Hermione supposed the kiss would have counted for a lot. She could not help smiling as she thought over the events of the day. Apart from the end, it really had been a lovely day.

 

A peal of thunder and a flash of lightning suddenly cut through the silence. Hermione jumped. That was new. So far, the weather had been perfectly clear, with sunny skies. She went to the window to see the sky darken and the sea turn from tranquil turquoise to a roiling grey. Fat clouds gathered overhead and heavy raindrops fell, clattering deafeningly against the roof tiles. Cold wind howled around the little cottage, sneaking in through cracks and creating a chill.

 

Hermione put on a jumper and built up a fire in the living room. She was beginning to wonder where Draco had gone and whether he had found shelter. A particularly loud clap of thunder filled the air, sounding like a mountain exploded. That decided her; she would go look for him. She retrieved two mackintoshes, the giant beach umbrella and a set of clothes for Draco, and set off.

 

The gale outside was strong and Hermione struggled to keep her feet as she went down to the beach. Rain buffeted her from all sides. She held the umbrella down closer to her. “Draco!” she yelled. “Draco, where are you?”

 

Her voice was lost to the wind. She knew she was being stupid and should go back to the safety of the cottage. But she couldn’t just leave him. There was no other place to shelter here. What if he fell off a cliff or got hit by lightning? As though reading her thoughts, a bolt of lightning struck the ground, far too close for comfort.

 

Hermione crouched down and took out her wand. “Locanto Draco Malfoy,” she incanted. The wand swiveled round and stopped, pointing to her left. She followed, pausing now and then to repeat her Locator spell and check that she was still heading in the right direction. Eventually, the wand pointed back the way she had come, and she knew she had found him.

 

“Draco!” she yelled.

 

“Hermione?”

 

She scanned the area until she spotted his pale figure leaning against a coconut tree. She hurried over. “You’re soaked!”

 

Draco was indeed saturated and shivering hard. His arms were wrapped around his body in an attempt to stay warm, but dressed only in swimshorts, it was a futile attempt. Hermione held the umbrella over him and handed him the T-shirt and trousers to put on. He was shaking too hard to put the clothes on himself, so Hermione had to balance the umbrella on her shoulder and help him. His shivering finally lessened after she put the windproof mackintosh on him.

 

“You came after me,” he stuttered. “Why? I didn’t think you would. I was so foul to you.”

 

“Yes, you were,” Hermione conceded. “No arguments there. But I couldn’t just leave you out here. What if you died?”

 

Draco gave her a weak smile. “Thank you, Hermione.”

 

She put an arm around him. “Come on. Let’s go back to the cottage before we both catch pneumonia.”

 

Draco chuckled. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her right against him. Hermione told herself that it was just a practical move – they could keep each other warm and stay dry under the umbrella. However, at the back of her mind, she could not help but acknowledge how good it felt to press up against Draco like this and be so close to him.

 

The cottage was a welcome sight. Friendly yellow light peeked from the windows and the seashell wind chimes rang a welcome. Hermione and Draco both moaned in relief when they left the wind and entered the warm cottage. They changed into dry clothes, made hot chocolate and huddled in front of the fire.

 

Hermione sat on the floor, leaning back against the sofa and cradling a mug of chocolate. She jumped when a heavy blanket was placed on her shoulders.

 

“Sorry,” said Draco. “I thought you looked a little cold.” He sat next to her, maintaining a careful distance.

 

“Here.” Hermione unfolded the blanket and put it around him as well. “You look cold too.”

 

He shifted closer to her and tucked the blanket around them. “I thought you were angry with me.”

 

Hermione shrugged. “It’s amazing how a life or death situation can change things.”

 

“You really thought I might die?” His tone softened and contained an unfamiliar cadence. If it were anyone else, Hermione would have thought it was affection.

 

“Well, it was a storm of epic proportions,” Hermione said. She ignored the fact that his hand had reached behind her and his fingers were playing with her hair again, twirling her curls round and round. “And you were out there alone and with no clothes on.”

 

“Ah, so it was my lack of clothes that changed your mind,” Draco teased.

 

Hermione blushed hard. “I didn’t say that.”

 

Draco ran his fingers lightly down her cheek. “You look so cute when you’re blushing and squirming like that.”

 

She swatted his hand away. “Stop it. I’m still angry at you.”

 

Draco nodded. “I suspected that. Might I inquire as to why?”

 

She shifted so she was facing him. “Why did you run away after we kissed? And no evasion this time. Just tell me honestly.”

 

He looked away and into the fire. The flames reflected in his eyes. Then, he sighed. “I didn’t expect it to happen,” he said flatly. “I was afraid of what it might mean.” He turned to her. “I didn’t want things to change. That kiss… it changes things.”

 

Hermione frowned. “You wanted to keep on being a prejudiced bigot who hates me?”

 

Draco let out an ironic huff. “No. The truth is… I’ve always been in love with you.”


	8. All right for now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of sexy times in this one. Sorry it's not really the best, I think.

Hermione was not sure what she had expected Draco to say, but it was certainly not this. “You’re in love with me?” she stammered.

 

He nodded, turning away from her again. “It was obvious you didn’t return my feelings. You hated me; I had made you hate me. I thought that would make it easier to control my feelings for you. I was satisfied with our relationship, or lack of it. It was easier to love you from afar. Safer. Then, I fell into that damned book and ended up in the most romantic place in the world with you. It was agony. To make matters worse, the only way to get out is to actually fall in love with you.”

 

“But isn’t that what you wanted?” Hermione took his hand. “I’m here. I don’t hate you – not anymore, at least. And time is passing, so the… emotional part is also working out.”

 

Draco eased his hand out of hers. “And then what? What will happen when we get out of here? You can never be mine, Hermione. I know that well enough. Why would I want to chase something that would only cause me pain?”

 

Hermione grabbed his face in her hands and forced him to face her. “That is the biggest load of rubbish I have ever heard,” she told him. “What happened to the Draco Malfoy I know who always fights for what he wants, damn the consequences? It’s not like you to give up before you even start. So what if our relationship is doomed? Isn’t it better to have had something rather than nothing? We can enjoy what we have and deal with the consequences later.”

 

Draco moved so quickly that Hermione barely had time to register it. Suddenly, he was holding her and kissing her again. This time, his movements were urgent, a flood held back for far too long. They pressed against the sofa only for a moment before tumbling onto the floor.

 

Draco’s firm body was a firm weight on hers. She welcomed it. It made her feel grounded, like he was her anchor. She put her arms around him, slipping her hands under his jumper and feeling his body quiver when she touched him. His lips began to explore, moving down from her mouth to the curve of her neck, the hollow of her clavicle and the valley between her breasts, just visible at the neckline of her oversize shirt.

 

“I believe I owe you an oogle,” Hermione whispered into his ear. She guided his hands to the hem of her shirt and lifted her arms so he could pull it off.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. He continued to kiss her, his tongue darting to caress her breasts and stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair, which was still a little damp from the rain. He paused at the waistband of her pyjama bottoms.

 

She smiled sweetly. “You’ll have to reciprocate if you want more.”

 

Draco smirked. “I don’t believe that will be a problem. Good thing it’s nice and warm in here.” He reached down and pulled off his jumper, followed by his trousers. Hermione grinned and did the same. Draco looked over her body. “Why didn’t you want me to see you earlier, when we were swimming?”

 

Hermione kissed him. “I wasn’t ready then.”

 

“And now?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Hermione crawled into his lap, wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him again. He groaned as her tongue brushed against his, playfully making contact then pulling away. He chased her, their bodies writhing when they touched. Waves of sensation washed over them. Draco could not keep upright any longer and they both fell to the floor, Hermione on top of him.

 

She could feel his body reacting to her. She moved her hand down between his legs, gently squeezing. Draco gasped and his hips jerked.

 

“Do you want this?” Hermione ran her hand up his inner thigh.

 

Draco groaned. “Only if you want to.”

 

With deliberate slowness, she peeled his pants off and touched him again, stroking and massaging. Draco clutched her like she was a life raft in stormy seas. “Oh god, Hermione,” he moaned, descending into incoherent murmurs. He rolled over so she was now on the floor and he on top. His eyes were dark with desire. He kissed her again with renewed urgency.

 

She guided his hand to her panties, encouraging him to take them off. He had no hesitation, and his fingers explored, slipping in and out of her, finding the secret places that made her arch her back and press against him. She wanted him closer, to have no space at all between them. She welcomed and held him as he finally eased into her.

 

Light, colour, sensation all intensified beyond anything she had ever experienced. No magic in the world could possibly compare to this. It was a tidal wave crashing – powerful and inexorable – carrying her to the top of the world where nothing existed except her and Draco. They moved together. She called out his name, just as he called hers. They were as one.

 

When the wave calmed, they lay side by side on the floor. The fire had died down and the storm outside had abated. The sun was setting, sending streaks of light through the windows. Gulls cawed over the roar of the waves.

 

“Are you all right?” Draco asked, reaching for Hermione’s hand and kissing it.

 

“Mmhmm…” she responded. She rolled onto her side and smiled at him. “That was wonderful.” She touched his face. “You look so happy.”

 

“I’ve never felt this happy.”

 

“‘ _Even though this won’t be forever, it could be all right for now,’_ ” Hermione quoted.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“A bit of the poem from ‘Paradise Cove’. I just remembered it.”

 

“It’s apt. Not forever but all right for now.”

 

“Consequences be damned,” Hermione added.

 

“I’m sure that wasn’t in the poem,” Draco pointed out.

 

“I think it’s implied.” Hermione raised herself onto one elbow. “Beverley P. Nebbett was telling us to live in the moment and do what we want right now. That’s what ‘Paradise Cove’ is about.”

 

Draco sat up slowly and looked out the window. “There’s an amazing sunset outside. Would you like to see it?”

 

Hermione scrunched up her face, feeling too relaxed to get up. “It’ll keep, won’t it?”

 

Sadness suddenly came over Draco’s face. “I don’t think so.”

 

That made Hermione sit up and look too. He was right. It was slow but the sun was moving down to the horizon. Time was not standing still anymore. She picked up some blankets and put them around the both of them. “Let’s go outside.”

 

The sand was warm under their bare feet. The beach looked different in the light of the setting sun. The huge ball of the sun dipped low, creating a fiery road on the water. Draco and Hermione held hands as they walked along the beach with the waves lapping at their toes. It was nice just walking in silence and enjoying each other’s company. They sat on a dune and watched as the sun inched below the horizon.

 

When the sky turned black and the first stars appeared, they headed back to the cottage. They found a steak dinner warming in the oven and the table set with nice silverware, candles and, oddly enough, silver balloons.

 

“What’s all this?” Draco asked. He grabbed his wand. “Is anyone here?”

 

“House elves?” Hermione suggested. She, too, picked up her wand and followed Draco as he went round the cottage, inspecting every corner. But there was no one to be found.

 

He shrugged. “I guess the cottage is working its magic again.” He went into the kitchen and headed for the oven. “Shall we?”

 

Hermione leaned against the kitchen island. “You know, I’ve always wondered what the fuss was about having sex on tables.” She came up behind Draco and put her arms around him. “All those shows on the telly where people are cooking one minute and then…”

 

Draco cut her off with a kiss. “Do you want to find out?” he asked. Hermione reached for a can of whipped cream. He smirked. “You have such a dirty mind,” he teased.

 

She laughed. “It’s just for fun.” She sprayed a bit on her finger and held it to him. “Like a taste?”

 

Draco delicately licked the cream off her finger. “Delicious.”

 

She took off the blanket that was tied around her and sprayed more whipped cream on her body. “I suppose you’ll be having dessert first, then.”

 

It was a phenomenal feeling to have Draco’s lips and tongue roving all over her. Her skin was incredibly sensitised and the slightest touch made her quiver. When he entered her, she thought she might explode from it all. She gripped him tightly, burying her face in his neck as the sensations crested once more.

 

“You are so amazing, Hermione,” Draco breathed as he nuzzled against her hair. “I am in awe of you.”

 

She kissed him again, slowly and tenderly. “You’re mine and I’m yours.”


	9. A last perfect night

“Don’t be stupid. Why are you still sleeping on the sofa when we have a perfectly good bed?” Hermione scolded.

 

Draco grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t want to presume too much.”

 

She threw a cushion at him. “Pick up this mess and get into the bedroom,” she ordered, gesturing at the pillow and blankets in the living room. He obeyed and was soon lying next to her. The huge bed had seemed strange to her before, but now, with him there, it felt right.

 

“Are you tired?” she whispered.

 

“It’s been a long day,” Draco slurred.

 

“Why is it always so hard for you to give me a direct answer?” she replied, slapping him gently on the chest. He just laughed softly. Hermione decided to let it go and settled down. She snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her and squeezed her. Eventually, his breathing levelled out and his body relaxed.

 

Hermione took the opportunity to study his face. He looked so different when he was asleep. His usual cold arrogant mask was stripped away and he looked younger, innocent and vulnerable. She wished she’d had the chance to get to know him sooner. How different both their lives might have been. She kept looking at him, memorising how he looked, until sleep overtook her.

 

She woke abruptly in the dark. She stretched out and found Draco’s side of the bed empty. She made a quick search of the cottage, but he was nowhere to be found. She cursed the fact that he didn’t think to leave her a note.

 

She headed out to the beach and followed Draco’s footsteps in the sand. It was a long walk. She wondered why he had decided that a hike in the middle of the night was a good idea. When she finally found him, he was sitting on an unfamiliar stretch of beach, staring out at the ocean. A tapestry of stars hung above them, far more stars and brighter ones than she had ever seen. The constellations were strange and unfamiliar. There was no moon.

 

“Hey,” she called.

 

Draco turned to look at her. “Hermione, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

She sat down next to him. “You didn’t. I woke and you weren’t there.” She searched his face. “Are you ok?”

 

He reached for her and hugged her. “As ok as can be.”

 

“What’s troubling you?” she asked.

 

He sighed. “The clock showed 3.20 when I woke up. Time seems to be moving normally now. I find it hard to accept the fact that my time here with you is coming to an end. We’ll have to return to the real world soon and I’ll lose you.”

 

Hermione’s heart broke for him. “Draco, no,” she said. “You can’t think like that. Things have changed for me too. I’m only just getting to know you and I don’t want to stop. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

 

Draco shook his head. “Our worlds are too different. You belong with Potter and Weasley and the rest of Dumbledore’s allies. My world is for the Dark Lord. I will not have you be a part of it.”

 

“I won’t be, and neither will you. You’re not a Death Eater, I’m sure of it!” Hermione exhorted. “That might be your world but you don’t have to go along with it. You can say no. I’ll support you, and so will Harry and Ron.”

 

He smiled crookedly. “You’re adorable when you’re insisting you can change the world.” He touched her face affectionately. “I love watching you try.”

 

“Draco…”

 

He put a finger to her lips. “Let’s not fight. We have this last perfect night together. Let’s not let it slip away.”

 

Hermione could not argue with that. She, too, wished for more time alone with Draco. “What do you want to do?” she asked.

 

He put his arms around her again and pulled her to lean on his chest. “Right now, I just want to sit here and hold you.” He kissed the top of her head. “What’s your greatest wish?”

 

Hermione turned her head to look at him. He was watching her expectantly. She giggled. “It’s really cheesy but I wish for You-Know-Who to be defeated and for equality among all magical peoples.”

 

“That’s two wishes,” Draco pointed out.

 

“Technicalities,” Hermione waved his remark away. “It’s not as if you’re a genie who can grant only one wish. What’s _your_ wish?”

 

“I don’t have one,” he answered a little too quickly.

 

“Liar!” She mock hit him on the arm.

 

He chuckled. “My wish already come true: I’ve had a perfect day with you.”

 

“Really?” Hermione turned to him again. He wasn’t looking at her. “I’m pretty sure you’re lying again. Come on, I told you mine.” She lifted her head and gave him a small kiss on the jaw. “Tell me.”

 

His arms tightened around her. “My greatest wish…” he began slowly, “is...” He trailed off and was silent for so long that Hermione thought he was not going to answer. She was about to call him out when he said: “I wish to be accepted as I am, to not have to constantly prove myself to be worthy of…” He stopped again. Hermione felt his chest rise and fall as he breathed hard. “I don’t want to be alone.”

 

Hermione turned so she could hug him. “Thank you for telling me, Draco,” she said. “I know it’s not easy.” She kissed him again, on the lips, a soft kiss to assure him. “I promise, no matter what happens when we go back to the real world, if you need me, I’ll be there for you. You just have to ask. You don’t have to be alone.”

 

Draco did not reply. He kissed her and held her again. His arms were warm around her, and she could tell that her body was keeping the chill away for him too. They fell into comfortable silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing, the rhythmic wash of the waves and the soft rustle of the wind. Neither wanted to think of how much time they had left.

 

Overhead, the stars began to fall in a spectacular shower. Draco and Hermione watched, transfixed. One by one, the stars plummeted to the horizon and burst into flares of silver light. Slowly, the sky emptied out, leaving only empty blackness behind. All was silent. Even the waves had hushed. Draco and Hermione clung to each other, suddenly fearful. They knew their time was up and this pocket dimension was closing down.

 

“What’s going to happen to us?” Hermione wondered. “It knows we’re still here, right?”

 

“I don’t know,” Draco said.

 

The darkness began to lighten and turn to gold. The light intensified until the entire sky was awash in a deep amber colour. Draco and Hermione got to their feet and held hands, lacing their fingers together. Draco looked at her. “Whatever happens… together?”

 

Hermione smiled at him. “Together.”

 

The amber light reached them and bathed them in warmth. The light grew brighter, so intense that they could hardly keep their eyes open. Just as they thought they could not bear it any longer, a green flash beamed from the horizon, and the world fell away around them.

 


	10. Epilogue

Hermione groaned. Everything ached and she felt like she had been hit by a bus. She was lying on a very hard floor, with dust tickling her nose. It was dim, making it difficult to see at first. But there was a very familiar smell – old books. She sat up quickly and looked around. There were books all around her, stacked so high that they formed walls up to the ceiling. She was back in Llewlyn Bromly Smyth’s rare books shop.

 

She pushed herself to her feet. Everything looked normal, as though she had never left. Her watch was ticking, starting up again from 2.14pm on Saturday, when she had last been here.

 

“Draco?” she called. “Draco!”

 

“Hermione? Where are you?”

 

Draco’s voice was soft and sounded very far away. Hermione began to walk, following his voice. The maze of books was frustrating. She itched to just push the stacks over and go through the walls instead. It seemed to take forever but, at last, she turned a corner and there he was, running towards her.

 

“Hermione!” He rushed up and hugged her. “When I couldn’t find you… I thought…”

 

“I know,” Hermione said. “I thought I’d lost you too. Are you all right? Are we really back?”

 

Draco nodded. “Here.” He led he round a few bends and came to a familiar passage. The book “Paradise Cove” laid neatly on the floor. “I woke up here, by the book. We should probably put it away so people won’t accidentally find it and get stuck in there.”

 

Hermione laughed. “I agree.”

 

He bent down but hesitated to touch it. Hermione laughed again and took his hand. “We’ll do it together. Just in case.” Draco smiled gratefully at her. Carefully, they picked up the book and buried it deep in a pile of other books. They placed even more books around it, just to make sure. There was a sense of finality as they placed the last book and walked away from the spot.

 

It took much less time than they expected to find their way to the shop entrance. Draco took Hermione’s hand again. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

 

“Ready to face the real world?” she asked.

 

“Not really,” Draco replied. “But, it’s time.”

 

She tiptoed to give him one last kiss. Then, hand-in-hand, they opened the shop door and stepped out into the bright sunshine and bustle of Diagon Alley.

 

 

 

**THE END**


End file.
